This week we attended our first birthing class, a class we were late to because I was dragging my feet, dreading being surrounded by so many hormones, all those other pregnant women and their neediness and their typical pregnant-ness.
I needn't have worried.
It turns out that the pregnant women in my class are striving to be normal and that pregnancy is a side business, something that's happening but is not necessarily the primary focus. Part of me is so afraid of turning into a cliche that I'm turning away from the things that could really benefit me, like making other pregnant friends, or even just reveling in the weirdness of my body right now and knowing it won't last. There is an expiration date.
When many times, going through an experience includes not knowing when it will end as part of it (such as an illness), having the chance to have this experience of pregnancy and knowing it's a limited-time-opportunity almost makes it better. Maybe in retrospect I'll say makes it worth it, and honestly, looking back on my six months of being pregnant, it has been worth it for the lessons I've learned, the internal peace I've come to in this position, and the maturity I've gained both in my self, my emotions, and in my relationship with my husband.
All my life, I've had an aversion to pregnant women, almost a physical repulsion when I see their bodies and preoccupied looks on their faces. Every pop culture reference to pregnancy is either over-the-moon euphoric, or a satire of the cravings and acid reflux that apparently every pregnant woman complains of. I've heard from mothers of 2 and 6 that they loved being pregnant (what!?), I know a tiny woman not even five feet tall who had 8 children, and a number of my friends and community members have chosen not to have children, but have offered their time and support once I do. I'm trying to take the middle ground, to appreciate the highs and not take the lows too personally, a big step up from the emotional roller coaster and crushing fatigue of my first try at pregnancy 18 months ago.
Some days are better than others. Some days I feel great physically, but emotionally I'm wondering what's off-kilter and why everything looks gray and fuzzy, as if there's a filter over my world. Some days I'm exhausted, and I force myself to stay on the couch, distracted by endless Netflix, so that I won't drive myself crazy with the things I should be doing, the things I thought I could handle even in this physically diminished, pregnant state. Those are the days of shame, both at my condition (I should be able to do more) and at not being able to accept where I'm at, even though I chose this (yes, this was intentional).
The best days? Those are the ones where I take stock of how I am that day, and accept my limitations, whatever they might be. At this point, there are always limitations, there's no more pretending I'm not pregnant, or getting by without being noticed. The belly is there, prominent like a mountain sticking off the front of me, a spotlight shining the way.
One of the best things I've done for myself is to accept that my energy is not my own, and to look for ways to support myself through this so that I can feel like myself as much as possible. This means napping, daily, usually around lunch. I used to resent naps, thinking of them as wasted time, time I could be DOING something, until I realized that the days I didn't nap were also the days of shoulds, of grayness, of mindless circling without satisfaction. Stepping back and taking perspective on the big picture, gauging where my energy would be best spent brought me to conclude in the value of napping. Most days I get one in, anywhere from an hour to two hours long, which divides my day into two, but in reality gives me two days to work with every day.
In short, pregnancy has been full of lessons I didn't expect to learn, and had no concept of before they happened, before I had the opportunity to learn them. I'm still learning how to ask for, and accept help (yay!), whether it's someone carrying my massage chair out to the car after a long session, or holding open a door. I remind myself that everything I do, the way that I act and react to emotions, the example that I set is going to be mirrored and followed by this tiny little being growing inside me. As trite as it sounds, I want to do it right. I want to be a good example to follow. I want to give my kid a step up in the world, help them start from where I am right now, instead of having to slog through all the crap I've already figured out.
I realize that some things you can only learn through experience, and for me, that's been most things. As a kid, you couldn't tell me anything without me being a know-it-all up front, a perfectionist afraid to fail behind the facade. Who knows who this kid will be, but at least I have the skills now to be able to see them for who they are, rather than who I want them to be. I hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment